Eddie On A Cross: A Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction

Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel

It was night in Pentagram City.

Or, at least, it would be night if therewere a sun to mark the time, but considering the hour shown by theclock on the tower of the Heaven embassy, it was night.

There was that oppressive feeling in theair that made you realize you were in a bad place; in the distance,you could hear screams and gunshots, occasionally an explosion, andwherever you turned, there was someone using substances, having sexundisturbed in the middle of the street, committing a robbery, orengaging in any form of crime or wrongdoing by those who had ended upin Hell.

Among them, a man was walking thestreets laughing boisterously, accompanied by two ladies thatdefinitely were prostitutes. These women were fawning over him,laughing at his sordid jokes and filling him with false promises andcompliments.

As the trio walked carefree through thedirty and dark streets of the infernal city, on the roof of thenearest building, somebody pointed the barrel of his rifle at thehead of the man in the street. Looking through his scope, the sniperpositioned the stock just above his armpit, took a deep breath, heldit, aimed carefully, and fired a shot, immediately bringing the mandown.

One shot, one kill.

The air was filled with the screams ofthe two harlots, and the sniper did not hesitate; with a swift hand,he used the reserve bullets and also eliminated the source of allthat noise as well. He finally caught his breath: every target downmeant more money, but at what cost...

The sinner took out his phone, snapped aphoto of the dead target and his companions, and sent it to anunnamed number.

‹It's done›, hewrote, attaching the photo. Responses arrived within seconds.

‹Great›

‹The other part of the payment is on its way›with the emoji "bank", "money bag", and "dollar-eyed smile"

‹Plus a bonus for the harlots›

‹You really do live up to your reputation.›"thumb up"

The sniper sighed, the weight of histhoughts bearing down on him like a boulder. His reputation allowedhim to have a home and take care of his sister, a rare privilege inHell. Despite everything, he couldn't help but reflect on what it hadcost him: years of survival in a ruthless environment, earned at ahigh price thanks to his lethal skill, had left deep scars on hissoul.

Every life taken from the targets, nomatter how hellish, weighed on his conscience. It was a cruelparadox: the same reputation that gave him work and money to survivecondemned him to relentless inner torment. "Like I don't haveenough problems already!" he thought bitterly, clenching his fistsin frustration.

But he couldn't afford to break down.Not now. His mind returned to the promise he had made to himself: todo everything to ensure a better life for his sister, far from thehorrors he knew so well. However, the weight of the broken lives wasnot something he could simply ignore.

With a final sigh, he tried to pushthose dark thoughts away. He had to stay focused, for his sister andthe promise he made to her.

As he calmly disassembled and put awaythe rifle, two more notifications arrived; one was his bank accountswelling further, the other was yet another 5-star review on Yelp.

He quickly glanced at the review: morepraise, more promises to hire him again if needed, another satisfiedclient recommending "Headshot" as a hit-man against theirenemies.

Headshot, as everyone called him, was anassassin for hire with a specialization in the use of sniper rifles.He always aimed for the head and always hit his mark, hence his name.Fifty years in hell had shaped him into the expert killer he was.Nothing could stop him.